Paddling with Porpoise: The Conclusion

Earlier this year we shared part 1 of Sean Jansen's incredible story of his solo paddle down the Baja peninsula to raise awareness for an endemic species of porpoise. Jansen has now fully completed his journey and tells part two of his amazing journey.

Words by Sean Jansen

I struggled for a while on the decision. I went home, half way done with the trip because of the weather. I had some mishaps from part one and my near 400-mile paddle down the Baja Peninsula. But I was driven. I left my board in Baja at a friend’s house and flew home.

When I dreamed of this trip, I pictured white sand beaches, epic camping photos, roosterfish and other game fish on the fly rod, and surreal tranquility without a soul in sight. I also thought it was going to take me two months and be the greatest thing to ever happen to me. And in many ways, it was and still is. It turned out to be all of these, but with a classic Mexican twist that I didn’t foresee coming. Like anything great in life, the risk is always present, but the reward keeps driving you forward. I was daydreaming of getting to Cabo San Lucas, the very end, but the monumental hurdles I had to jump over were abound on a daily basis and my focus was paramount.

Photo courtesy: Sean Jansen

Part one taught me about wind and the risks associated with the powerful northern whips that can threaten everything. I capsized and thought I lost it all, and from that experience, PTSD was present with every gust that came down the coast thereafter. Part two taught me that my focus was integral for the success of the trip, and that if the mentally had the slightest thing off about it, the trip would plummet. I used the combination of knowledge, as well as the encouragement of loved ones and fellow advocates to help power me down the coast.

Part one was the remote, demanding section of the trip where solitude reigned supreme. Part two turned out to be the social hour. It had long sections of remote terrain as well, but the population of the peninsula skyrocketed towards the end, and that ended up being a huge part to the success of my solo paddle.

The winds were still abound, but so too were the palapas and white sanded beaches. The water was as clear as ever and luckily so too was my conscious to keep paddling and driving me forward. The mountains were bigger then ever with cliffs lining the sea and dominating the landscape, but so too was the hope that I could be successful paddling this coast and raising the awareness I knew I could for the critically endangered Vaquita porpoise.

Photos courtesy: Sean Jansen

I set up my tent each night on beaches from the super remote to the civilized, all the while waking before dawn to taste the sweet aromas of coffee and listen to the howls of coyotes, watching the shooting stars streak across the sky. My muscles ached with the long days on the water without a breath of wind all the while boredom took over on the beaches while the sand stung my skin getting blown for days on end.

New threats became ever present, but also new rewards. People frolicked the beaches, hearing rumors of the “paddleboard man” coming down the coast. While the local wildlife often praised my arrival as well. Everything from mobula rays leaping out of the water, dolphins swimming alongside me, stick bugs and geckos coming into camp to say hello, and the ever-present osprey calling out at my arrival. But my arrival wasn’t always welcome.

As I made it further south, the influence of the Pacific Ocean started to present itself. Swells started coming in from multiple directions, spinning my board into a whirlpool of frustration and focus. I had to pay attention to my balance as the wind swell from the north and the south swell from the Pacific were threatening each paddle with a capsize. When I focus on my balance, I stare at the nose of my board.

While staring at the nose of my board, a gigantic school of jacks swam below me in about 20 feet of water. A school of well over 100 fish strong captivated my imagination and praised my passion for conservation measures on this particular stretch of coast. As I smiled at their site, my periphery caught something else. And my joy of the situation quickly switched to fear for my life. At first I thought it was just another rock. But this rock was moving at predatory speed. The large tail movement caught my eye first than the focus shifted to its teeth. With all of this happening in a matter of just seconds, the 4-6 foot bull shark came at the side of my board at full speed, and right when I was bracing for impact, it turned away and darted back to the blue. I was a mere 60 miles from the end of the trip, and that was my first and only real shark encounter. I saw four in total, two were that day, but out of a thousand miles of coastline, I only saw four sharks.

Photo courtesy: Sean Jansen

Going from due south to slowly paddling west, I knew the end was near. The cliffs, white sand beaches, remoteness, and abundance of wildlife shifted to high-rise hotels, million dollar homes, and cruise ships. People zipping by on jet skis and tours being held in pangas with their boat wakes creating a third swell for me to paddle through. The arch at Lands End in Cabo San Lucas presented itself while my GPS watch pinged at 1,000 miles. I was emotional in the morning knowing I was going to make it to the end, but upon my arrival, the feeling was of a gutless emptiness that I have struggled to comprehend and describe even today.

I threw my hands to the sky and enjoyed the moment while tour boats and kayakers watched in oblivion of not knowing what I just did. Even sitting in the hotel that night, being done with my board packed and the gear stowed, watching television and eating tacos and street food, the feeling was of near sadness as I knew I wasn’t going to paddle the next day.

This trip was a mixed emotion roller coaster. With many loops, lots of high points coupled with just as many drops. But like all roller coasters, the ride does to come to an end. The feeling of adrenaline, the feeling of unknown is what I’m choosing to stay with me when I close my eyes and remember the trip. The countless people who lent a hand, to the incredible wildlife that presented themselves; from the dramatic shark to the peaceful sea turtles.

But ultimately, I’m grateful. Grateful that my board held up despite the constant battering I gave it. Grateful my gear held up despite soaking it and dropping it down on the shore. Grateful my body held up, as not a single injury, aside from my pride was jeopardized. And beyond grateful that Mother Nature granted me safety, as there were countless times she could have swatted me down and starved me on a beach to die. But she allowed me to view her majesty, her beauty, and I hope to inspire anyone anywhere that with some respect and understanding of how ecosystems work, places like the Baja Peninsula can remain an untouched paradise for anyone else who wishes to admire her shores.

I wrote a book about the journey titled, “Paddling with Porpoise.” It is available on Amazon to anyone interested in reading as 100% of the royalties I would receive from the purchase will be donated to conservation, hopefully saving the Vaquita from extinction.

May the Vaquita swim with us forever.

Photo courtesy: Sean Jansen

Stats from the trip:

• 255,901 calories burned
• 1,004.50 miles paddled
• 123 days duration
• 79 nights of camping
• 70 days of paddling
• 53 zero days
• 29 nights staying in houses
• Caught 21 fish
• Pumped 18 liters of fresh water from my sea water pump
• Got offered 17 beers
• Fished 16 days
• Took 15 showers
• Averaged 14.35 miles a day
• Dealt with 14 separate El Norte wind events
• Paid for 11 campsites
• Stayed 7 nights in hotels
• Got rained on 4 times
• Had 4 shark encounters
• Had 3 campfires
• Paddled through 2 time zones, 2 states, and experienced 1 hurricane